#powerfed

[bladesurgence]

Glowing white eyes suddenly lost their intensity, dying back down to natural violet. It was like nothing she had ever felt before. Her magic was pouring from her like water. It wasn't painful, it just felt like a rush of weakness coming over her entire body. Where was her magic going? She moved her hands to her stomach and could feel wetness. There it was. That was her magic, spilling away. A wave of panic caused her to look down. Impaled thrice. The fourth came as she looked up again. "Irie--"

     Without the weight of a sword attached to her hand, there is little difference between a scythe cutting down wheat and her blades cutting through bone and sinew.

     Even though she no longer feels the resistance jarring her arm when her sword strikes another, Irelia is careful to acknowledge the very moment when a sword inflicts a mortal wound. Something inside a person - a victim - breaks, something deeper than bone, and it spreads like a disease to her own limbs and her own sensations.

     After the defense of the Placidium, after Irelia once more took up a sword (not with her hands again, but with her very thoughts), she never forgot each person whose life she had to take, and why she had to do it.

     So why now can she not feel anything? Why does she feel detached once more, looking at herself and the dying girl she catches in her arms like her soul has been splintered into the very skies above her?

     Once she feels Syndra’s body slack in her arms and magic pour out of it like sands from a shattered hourglass, she no longer recognizes any semblance of the enemy that her country and her values painted her as. All she sees is death coming for one whose thread of life Irelia has cut short. She can hear the neighing of the pale horseman’s steed, and it sends a haunting ripple down her spine.

     For a second Irelia’s mind is blank, and then the recollection of the last few seconds pour down upon her like rampaging waters breaking down a dam. The power generating in Syndra could not be contained once it had finished accumulating. Irelia’s only choice was to bring the fight to her, and strike her down.

     But this is no dark sovereign, no emissary of chaos. A splotch of red leaks through the rip in her corset, where one of Irelia’s blades has struck. She bleeds, just like every other human.

     irelia gasps, her hands trembling, and out of the million thoughts that cross her mind, she retains the thought to at least not draw her blades out immediately. That sort of blood loss would seal her fate.

     Instead she collapses onto her knees, clutching Syndra’s body to her. She feels so light, even after the magic has drained out of her.

     “W-what have I done?” Irelia sputters through choked gasps.

     Duty has no consolation when its cost is the deconstruction of her world.

     Irelia knows that the situation had made it impossible for both to walk away alive, but a part of her had hoped that Syndra’s retaliation would immediately wipe her out. Surely it is better to return to death, than offer the life of a husk that houses the soul of a long-lost friend as flimsy payment.

     Her fingers reach out to stroke Syndra’s cheek. Her breathing is ragged, and her heart is pounding, but at least it seems that Syndra has found peace. Irelia can see her eyes, a vivid purple, always so bright and clear when they were young.

     Cruel fortune, that it should take the pyre of death to ignite a fire so lovely in those irises.

     “I don’t want to lose you,” Irelia whispers. “I don’t want to lose you. I didn’t want to do this…”

     I had to do this. I had to lose her. I had to love her.

     The blades jutting out of Syndra’s chest are still sharp, and for a second Irelia’s dreams are wild with the thought of joining Syndra in death’s liberation, of freeing her mind with one more impalement.

     But the flames of Hell overpower that image, and Irelia trembles, collapsing into a pile of ragged limbs and heavy sobs.

     “F-forgive me,” Irelia wails, her eyes moist with tears daring to speak to the heavens. “I am too cowardly to die.”

[fury-of-darkin]

@powerfed Enters the Fray

“I did not think you would ever leave that fortress of yours.” Aatrox remains in the shadows, looking at the sovereign as she descends. “Then again, I imagine there is only so much to learn from ancient scrolls...”

[lapidate-blog]

  Flying. Stone. Flying! With a castle on it! Taliyah’s child wonder overpowered her common sense as she thought about how a giant rock could fly! Well, the answer was that it shouldn’t, but here it was, whispering inaudible things from on high. She couldn’t support herself with geomancy, not without significant damage to the area around her, which she usually avoided unless it was a life or death situation. Plopping herself down on a nearby rock, she traced patterns in it as she thought how to get to the big rock in the sky.

   What if she brought the big rock to her?

She leaped up, that was the answer!... Wasn’t it? It had to be, she couldn’t just see a flying hunk of earth and pass by. Of course, this was on a scale she had never really attempted, but what if this was a wonder presented by the Great Weaver? On that note, she could hardly justify not attempting to set foot on flying earth. She sat herself down cross-legged as she began breathing deep, slowly and steadily. In and out. She slowly began drawing from the earth, the power of the unyielding stone below. Feeling a surge of strength, she got to her feet and entered a stance low to the ground, raising her hands to the sky she realized she wasn’t quite sure what motion to use for this.

  Deciding to pretend she was literally pulling it towards her, she tensely pulled her arms down, they only came with immense amounts of resistance. She pushed forward, drawing more energy from the stone, repeating the motion to pull it towards her. Within tens of seconds, she was exhausted, but she kept pushing until her chest was heaving and sweat was streaming down her face. A stray sweat droplet slipped into her eye, the sting causes her to lose focus. Stumbling backward, she looked up in despair as the stone bobbed back up to it’s resting height. Cursing, she let herself fall backward onto her back, her chest still struggling for air. She looked up at the floating hunk of rock with defiance. She would not disappoint the great weaver but pushing oneself too far ended only poorly. with her back resting upon the soil, she thought about how to bring it back down. 

  @powerfed

[vxndictae-moved-blog]

@powerfed​

❝ Syndra. Tell us. Is magic...keeping us like this? Does it prevent us from moving on? ❞

[bladesurgence]

☞ + hmmmm. leona? :o?

     As the sun peeks through the clouds and shines its first rays on Targon’s peak, Leona rises, just like any other day.

     She heads out the back door of the priory, outfitted in the grey armor of the Iron Solari, its half-sun helmet perched atop her head. In the shadow of the obelisk of Helios she bows, feeling the sun cast its rays on her and rejuvenate her spirit. Each day begins with an invocation to their deity to shine its light before its chosen people, to guide them along the path of righteousness. And each day would end in the same way, imploring the sun to protect them from the long nights, where the wicked and the sinful wade in the shadows.

     And yet, today would not be a day like any other.

     Leona knows she will enter the temple of the conclave and find its sanctity shattered: candelabra tossed to the floor, artifacts knocked over, archives burned, and entire rooms demolished, as if struck by some kind of storm. And yet they had suffered no misfortune at the hands of Mother Nature: the remaining elders must know, even if they deny it ever step of their way, with every word voiced from their tongues, that they had brought this disaster upon themselves.

     They had pushed Diana towards an ultimatum, and her spirit, indomitable in defiance as it was in her curiosity to learn the truth, had refused to submit.

     Not that she was blameless in this ordeal either; but just like the celestial bodies that they championed, neither Solari nor Lunari could coexist in a society that wrapped itself around a single tradition like a boa constrictor ensnares its prey.

     She arrives at the bottom of the steps of the temple and hears the bells tolling. ending with a low klang that echoes into the distance. Morning prayer had begun, and despite the single act of rebellion that took place last night, despite a break in the steady stream of tradition, life on the mountain would continue as usual.

     Leona remembers the white light that possessed Diana as she broke free from her bonds at the altar, moments away from her execution. She remembers the waves of lunar energy, emitting out from her khopesh in crescent shapes, striking down the elders of the Solari. Heresy, blind conviction, all in one dangerous, violent package.

     She remembers how she had no power to stop it.

     Leona adjusts the position of her helmet as it weighs heavily upon her already sweat-laden hair.

     As the sun continues to rise, today would be a day like any other.

[bladesurgence]

does irelia wear makeup?

One of the stranger headcanons I have for Irelia is that her short time being legally dead (for like two minutes) and being resurrected gives her an eerie pallor. Her skin is lighter than the average Ionian (compare her splash to Akali, for example) and most of the blemishes on her face were removed due to the effects of Soraka’s stellar healing.

So Irelia actually wears makeup to cover up this ‘eerie beauty’ of hers. A combination of foundation and bronzer adjusts her light complexion to a shade that it was before, but her death still leaves her body distinctly different. I don’t want to say that she looks too conventionally beautiful, it’s more like if someone had been emaciated or pale for a long period of time and then got regular exposure to the sun and proper nourishment.

By the present day her looks have normalized and she tries to use as little as possible, especially when she’s traveling. But during festivals and important occasions, she’ll use a little. Especially mascara - that’s a cosmetic Irelia has always liked ever since people began complimenting her eyes. At the very least, she feels she can highlight that part of her face.

[bladesurgence]

Everyone was waiting. They were all waiting but she couldn't let go. Irelia was her only friend, the only thing that felt safe and now, even that was getting taken away. They said she would get to come back and visit but somehow she felt that was wrong. She squeezed tighter and buried her face in her friend's hair. She was shaking. Syndra was scared. Everyone was lying, she could feel it. They were going to leave her there. Tears finally spilled. "I love you, Irie. Promise me you won't forget."

     Irelia hangs on tight, arms around Syndra’s waist like a drifter clinging to the last fragment of his ship’s mast in the wreckage that floats along the ocean.

     She tries to stand up straight, to provide the pillar that Syndra needs to lean on one last time, to give the strength that they need to break away. But Irelia’s hands are trembling, even as she stands there like a statue, mind too disjointed to accept the reality unraveling before her.

     Syndra can’t be leaving. They can’t keep them apart for so long, can they? The elders say they need to assess her power; well, Irelia knows how determined she is to learn, and how much progress she’s already put into her magic. She would return in a couple of weeks, a month tops. Right?

     “Don’t… don’t cry, Syn,” Irelia says, even as her voice catches, and her throat aches as if it hadn’t tasted water in days. “You have to be strong. The elders… they’re watching.”

     She gives one last squeeze, clutching the small of Syndra’s back, before her soon-to-be mentor gently drags her away, nodding to Irelia’s father.

     “I won’t forget.” She holds up a bracelet, a gift that they had exchanged to each other last Snowdown. They would become great defenders of Ionia, just like the swordswomen and mages in the legends. Their training just had to start earlier than usual, right?

     “We’re going to be heroes! Remember?”

     As they wave goodbye and Syndra disappears into a carriage that in turn disappears around the bend in the forest, Irelia turns to her father.

     “I hope she’ll be okay alone. I want her to learn to trust her mentor, just like she learned to trust me.”

[bladesurgence]

@powerfed

     “It has been ages since I’ve been on this side of the counry,” Irelia remarks, digging her bare feet deeper into the grassy hills of western Ionia. Skylarks flit around fruit trees, and even the stones and rocks of the land seem to brim with vivacity and energy. Somewhere on the other side of these mountains, the vastaya are known to stake their territory, clinging to the primal magic that leaks out of the fartherst corners of Ionia.

     It’s no wonder Syndra enjoys this place.

     Their caravan is only a few miles away from Port Nephalen, where they are due to investigate alleged deterioration of a protective artifact, but since they’ve come ahead of schedule Irelia figures it doesn’t hurt for them to stop for a while to admire the scenery.

     “You seem to be enjoying yourself.”